


Atavsim

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Future, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-25
Updated: 2008-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Post-513. When Justin’s life in New York collapses catastrophically, he and Brian are left reconsidering their choice to live and grow apart.Islife worth sacrificing for the sake of ‘something called love?’





	1. Pyribrotos

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

**'Atavism** _:_ The return of a trait or recurrence of previous behaviour after a period of absence.'

~~

**New York**   
_Justin’s POV_  
  
It was the premonition of doom that woke me; a sense born of that elemental necessity for self-preservation.  
  
It had crept into my dream, seeping around the edges of my comatose mind like water percolates through soil. I don’t recall what I was dreaming about before, but I do remember everything in my dream rapidly shifting, morphing and melting away until my dreamworld phantom was again walking through the bombed out Babylon.  
  
They say that of all the senses, smell is the most powerful inducer of memory. 

My mind had taken me back in time to that night because of the smell; the acrid scent of thick, black, chemical-laden smoke. The smell of things burning that were never meant to burn; plastic, metal, asbestos, carpeting and furniture.   
  
I was wide awake suddenly, all my senses heightened to a point of being as sharp as the tip of a razor. I sat bolt upright in my bed, my heart pounding with fear and adrenaline as I realized that the intolerably shrill sound filling the room was the pealing of the fire alarm. It was screaming out its high-pitched trill like the ringing of a rotary phone magnified ten thousand times.  
  
It was hot, way too hot. The space heater in my shoddy New York apartment had long since died and the place had been like a walk-in fridge all winter long. But now the room was like an oven, the hotness was seeping up through the floor by convection, filling the whole apartment with stifling heat.   
  
Stricken with fear, I stumbled up blindly, scrambling up off the bed and blundering into the main room, a combination of living area and kitchenette. But suddenly I couldn’t breathe; there was no oxygen in the air- there was no air at all, just the soundless swirling mass of choking, asphyxiating smoke; the silent precursor of danger and death.  
  
I threw myself to my hands and knees, my body pulsing with adrenaline, so paralysed with fear I could barely think. Close to the ground the air was clearer but still thin, the deadly smoke above me creeping along the walls and ceiling like some living thing with supernatural consciousness.   
  
I started crawling towards the apartment door that led out to the landing, the cheap carpeting creating painful friction with my knees. 

I almost stopped when I saw the inky smoke curling in under the door jam, silently sliding into the room to come creeping across the floor towards me.   
  
Desperation quickly overcame fear and I began to move again, covering the distance to my only escape route rapidly. I held my breath to keep my lungs from filling with smoke as I fumbled with the chain and deadbolt so franticly I tore two nails clean off my right hand. I didn’t feel the pain, didn’t notice the blood.  
  
Outside in the main hall the smoke was thick, caustic and black, moving swiftly and silently up the stair well to hover lower and lower over the heads of the terrified occupants of floor five. Above the ear-spitting trill of the fire alarm, there were other sounds; men yelling to one another, a woman’s terrified sobbing, a child screaming, and a baby crying.   
  
And there was another sound as well; a dull roar accompanied by the noise of cracking and splintering and the shattering of glass. The sound of the relentless superhuman force of flame and heat.  
  
I dropped the my knees again, gasping for breath and choking on the smoke, seeing shadowy figures moving through the haze in pairs or singles, crouching or crawling, feeling along the wall for the way out. 

The air was thickly laden with the sense of terror, chaos and panic; triggered by the premature realization of our own mortality.  
  
I joined the stream of bodies fumbling along the walls towards the outside fire exit, coughing so hard it brought tears to my eyes but still unable to clear the smoke’s tarry residue from my lungs. I felt a whiff of cool air on my face as I neared the exit, but it was quickly cut off by a crush of bodies as people tried to get through the door to safety.  
  
In their panic and desperation to get out, people were slowing the progress through the bottleneck; shoving and pushing and trying to cram past one another. 

There was the calamitous sound of voices and sobbing, screaming and yelling, but I could register none of it beyond my own blinding terror.   
  
Still on my knees, I was forced into the press of bodies and was kicked so hard in the face by a flaying foot that I saw stars dancing before my vision.   
  
I felt the sting of pain and the flow of blood, and saw my life flashing before my eyes; I recalled Emmett’s elation when I’d asked him to host my ‘New York style’ house warming party. I saw the pride on the faces of my friends and family at my first art show. I seemed to hear again Gus’ giggles and his cries of delight when we’d built a snow fort in the Muncher’s new back yard at Christmas.  
  
And blazing in it and behind it and through it all, there was Brian. Brian kissing me, caressing me, holding me, wanting me, soothing me, loving me.   
  
I knew then that I wouldn’t die here. Not tonight. Not this way.  
  
I got up off my knees and turned my body sideways to make myself less of a target. I was literally lifted off my feet as the crush of bodies pushed through the narrow doorway.   
  
And suddenly I was outside in the cool night, being borne down the clattering metal stairs in a human torrent of desperation and panic. I was wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, and the cold, sharp metal of the stairs cut viscously into my bare feet.  
  
We were joined on the fire escape by people flooding out of the floors below us, adding bodies and panic to the mass. I could see nothing but the backs of heads or necks, flaying hands and terrified faces. I was being crushed and suffocated, hit and prodded from all sides, and I had to raise my arms to protect my head and face.   
  
Even with my eyes open, I saw Brian’s face looming up from my subconscious mind and knew again that would survive this.   
  
I would, I had to. For him.  
  
After what seemed like an eon, the flood of terrified people reached the bottom of the stairs and immediately dissipated, like water crashing into the whirlpool at the base of a waterfall. I stumbled forward blindly, away from the building and away from the crowd.   
  
The flashing lights of fire trucks, ambulances and police cars made everything look like it was under a strobe light. 

The cacophony of sound went on and on; sobbing, screaming, the wailing of sirens, the crackling of radios, and above all, the roaring of the inferno.  
  
I turned unsteadily to look back at the apartment block that had been my home and my studio for the past year.   
  
One whole side of the building had disappeared into the blaze, the heat waves travelling through the air and warping the image. Through some of the windows I could see the hungry flames licking up the inside of the building, roaring through it like some stampeding creature of unfathomable power and merciless indifference.   
  
Fire-fighters were shooting powerful jets of water directly into the heart of the inferno, but as if it were a conscious entity, the fire seemed to swell and roar with indignation and rage.  
  
I felt a hand on my elbow suddenly and a supporting arm around my shoulders. There was a voice saying something, something stern but soothing, and I found myself being propelled away from the building towards what looked like a make-shift field hospital erected in the parking lot.   
  
The grass was damp and cold, but it felt soothing on the wide and painful incisions the metals stairs had left on the soles of my feet.  
  
My escort, I realized after a prolonged period of confusion, was a paramedic.   
  
She took me to one of the ambulances and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, telling me to hold it around myself while she took care of my injuries. 

It was a terrible shock when I looked down to see that I was covered with blood; I had a wide gash across my forehead and a broken nose from having been kicked, my knees were badly abraded from the crawling, and my right hand was gushing blood from the finger tips where the nails had come off.  
  
I felt suddenly faint and would have collapsed had my paramedic not been on the ball and caught me. It took two of them to lay me down on my back on a foam pad, covering me with another blanket and talking to me constantly, asking me questions and insistently prompting responses as they worked to stop the bleeding.  
  
I gazed beyond their faces and into the night sky which in New York was never truly dark. I thought vaguely of how the glow of the inferno looked like the glomming before the sunrise; the last sunrise on earth.  
  
I closed my eyes again until I saw Brian’s face; he was smiling and laughing, kissing me gently.   
  
For him I had survived.   


 


	2. Orphan of the Ashes

**Pittsburgh, 7:30am**  
  
CBS Radio News.

“More than four hundred people are homeless today after a massive fire swept through an apartment block in New York’s East Village early this morning. After almost four hours of intensive work to suppress the flames, teams of fire fighters from across the city have now successfully contained the inferno that broke out at Yorkton Suites near Tompkins Square Park

Authorities are calling the blaze the worst residential fire to occur within the city in more than sixty years. So far, thirteen people including four children have been declared dead, dozens more are critically injured and as many as fifty individuals have been reported missing.

The fire began at approximately 4am EST on the fourth floor of the eight-storey building, spreading rapidly to engulf two-thirds of the complex in less than forty minutes. Many of the tenants were forced to flee to safety down the outdoor fire escapes or the main stairwell, while others on lower floors leapt from windows or balconies.

Investigators say that it is too soon to yet determine the cause of the blaze which has already done millions of dollars worth of damage, both to corporate and personal property.

An emergency shelter has been established for the displaced individuals in the nearby Baile Adams Arena, where those with minor injuries are currently receiving care as emergency rooms are filled to capacity.

Emergency services have established an information hotline for relatives and friends of the displaced tenants and indicate that they will be contacting the families of those injured or otherwise in need.

In other news this morning…”

~~~

**Baile Adams Arena, New York. 8:00am.  
** _Justin’s POV_

__It wasn’t until after I’d been brought to the arena- the urban refugee camp- that the enormity of what had happened began to set in.

It was the realization that I had absolutely nothing, knew no one who could help me, and had no way of contacting anyone who could, that sent me into a descending spiral of panic.

I had never been so alone.

Not ‘alone’ like I’d felt as the plane had left the runway _en route_ to New York that first time. Not ‘alone’ like I’d felt every time I watched Brian disappear though the airport security gates when his all-too-infrequent visits came to an end. Not ‘alone’ like I felt as I’d lain down night after night in my small, cold bed, thinking of the bedroom in Britin and of what could have been.

This was ‘alone’ as in pure, desolate isolation.

It was as if I’d fallen into a parallel universe in which I’d never existed in the first place. It was a world so foreign to me, so horrifying and alien, that it didn’t seem as if it could exist at all. And yet it did.

The crush and swell of terrified, angry, desperate people all around me was real. The smell of smoke and burning that had soaked into our skin and hair and clothing was real. The mournful, grief-stricken wailing of broken people and the expressions of naked despair, distress and hopelessness were all real.

And I was alone in the midst of it. Forgotten.

The panic attack came on suddenly; it had been so long since I’d had one that I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late. In the months following my bashing, and within days of moving in with him, Brian had learnt to identify the signs that an attack was imminent, and he knew how to prevent them.

And when they couldn’t be prevented, Brian had always been there to calm and placate me, to hold me patiently and whisper gentle words against my skin until the black waves of terror ebbed away into stillness.

But now, as my vision clouded and I fought to suck air into my starving lungs, the waves crashed over my head and pulled me into their abysmal depths until I knew I was drowning.

Through my panic, I became aware of a flurry of movement around me, a buzz of urgent voices, and a supporting arm around my waist, lowering me to the floor. Something smelling of sterilizer was pressed over my nose and mouth, and I was told to breathe deeply.

After a few moments, I no longer felt like I was suffocating, my vision cleared, and my body became willing to obey my brain once more. I saw the man knelling next to me, holding the plastic mask to my face, was wearing a dark blue EMS uniform.

“Give him some room,” the man ordered the crowd of curious onlookers who had accumulated around me.

He asked me if I could walk, and when I nodded, he lifted me slowly to my feet and helped me stumble over to an area designated to first aid. I allowed myself to be wrapped in a blanket and settled down against the wall on what looked like a blue yoga mat.

“Looks like you had a bit of a rough night,” the man commented gently, crouching down in frount of me and indicating the line of butterfly bandages that had been applied to the gash on my forehead. “Did you live in the apartment building? What’s your name, son?”

“Justin Taylor,” I replied automatically, and as if it had reminded me I had the ability to communicate, my thoughts came tumbling out in a jumbled slew of words.

“I live in one of the bachelor suites…I mean, I lived…My studio was in there, too…I don’t know anyone in New York very well. No one at home knows what happened; no one knows I’m here…I need to tell someone…I need to talk to them…”

“Easy, son,” the man soothed gently, evidently intent on preventing another panic attack, laying a kind but firm hand on my shoulder. I looked into his face for the first time and saw he was older, may be fifty or so, with soft features and hazel eyes almost the same colour as Brian’s. It was that recognition that seemed to quell the storm threatening to erupt again.

“Now listen, Justin,” he said gently. “We’re going to make sure your family knows what happened and that you’re here and you’re safe. We’ll ask that someone come here to be with you. Until then, I want you to stay here with us, alright? We’re here to help you.”

I looked at him and nodded in response, and the man gave my shoulder a squeeze before getting up to help another casualty. I was still wearing only what I had been sleeping in, although somewhere along the way I’d managed to acquire an ill-fitting pair of neglected running shoes.

Even with the blanket wrapped tightly around my body, I was still shaking with cold, with a chill I knew had nothing to do with temperature.

When I closed my eyes I saw again the image that seemed to have been tattooed onto the inside of my eyelids; a blood red sun rising through the smoke and haze, long crimson fingers penetrating the miasma to caress the cinders of a world that had turned to ash.

~~~

**New York. 8:20pm.**

By the time he actually came for me, my distorted mind had managed to turn every dark-haired man within my sight range into him.

I saw him tending to casualties, I saw him carrying in emergency supplies, I saw him with a news crew interviewing tenants, and I saw his face in a photograph on the board of missing persons. He was everywhere but simultaneously no where at all.

I had lost all track of time. It could’ve been a few minutes that I’d been sitting here; it may have been several days. Years. Decades. I was overwhelmed with the sense that I’d somehow fallen into a world in which I didn’t belong.

So when I saw his dark head bobbing above the heads of the milling crowds of people, I told myself it couldn’t possibly be him. It was another man; another tall, brown-haired man in jeans and a leather bomber jacket.

I closed my eyes despairingly, only to see the image of the burning building projecting across my mind once more.

When I opened my eyes again, he was making a beeline for me, effortlessly sidestepping people and objects, his eyes fixed on my face, his expression the exact same one he’d worn when he’d found me after the bomb at Babylon.

But it was him. It was Brian.

The realization was too staggering to try and comprehend, and yet I found myself surging to my knees, using the wall to push myself up, wanting desperately to reach him before the apparition vanished and I was left alone again.

When he was less than eight feet from me and showing no signs of dissipating, I abandoned the attempt to stand and held my arms out to him instead.

In one sinuous motion, he seized me under the arms and hauled me bodily to my feet, his own arms wrapped all the way around my back and shoulders, crushing me to his chest so tightly I could barely breathe. Somehow I managed to get my arms around his neck and I clung there as if for dear life, standing on my toes to press the whole length of my body against his.

The relief was almost too much to bear.

“Jesus Christ, Justin,” Brian breathed hoarsely, his voice hitching slightly. I felt one of his hands on the back of my head, grasping a handful of my hair as if he needed something to hold onto. “Thank God you’re OK. You should see the shit they’re showing on the news. We were scared out of our fucking minds.”

“I wanted to call,” I choked out, feeling emotion rising inside me like a tidal wave. “I don’t have a phone…I don’t have anything. I was so scared no one would know what happened. I thought no one would come for me.”

“Why would you think that?” Brian asked, and he sounded genuinely distressed and upset. He pulled away from me and took my face in his hands almost urgently, staring hard into my eyes. “I love you, you twat. Did you really think I would just leave you here to fend for yourself?”

“No. I dunno know,” I replied brokenly, letting Brian turn my face gently in his hands so he could examine the bruises and the cut across my forehead. “I was scared and confused. I had a panic attack and I couldn’t think straight.”

“I would never leave you alone like that, Justin. Never.”

I felt tears stinging at my eyes and I screwed them shut, locking my arms around Brian’s neck and pressing my face against the warm, rough skin of his throat. I felt Brian’s hand under the flimsy material of my t-shirt, rubbing small circles into the bare skin of my back.

He was so familiar; his actions, his touch, his feel, and his scent were all so real and reassuring.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” Brian whispered to me after a while. He let me go, undid the zipper of his bomber jacket and shrugged out of it. Underneath, he was wearing a thin, burgundy long-sleeved shirt. He held the jacket out to me.

“Put this on. I don’t want you freezing to death out there.”

When I hesitated, knowing that he would be the one freezing if I accepted it, Brian moved behind me and slid my arms into the sleeves, pulling my hands through the cuffs. The jacket was slightly too large for me, but it was warm with Brian’s body heat and it smelt like him; leather and cigarette smoke and his expensive aftershave.

“Where’re we going?” I asked softly as Brian took my hand and began to lead me through the chaos of the arena.

“I’m taking you to a hotel tonight.” Brian replied, as he pulled me against him and put a protective arm around my waist as we navigated our way through a particularly dense crowd of people. “I can’t get a flight back to Pitts for us until tomorrow. And I don’t think you’re really fit for travelling today.”

“But I don’t want to go back…What about me?” I asked. “What about my art? This…this was my future, Brian.”

I spoke the words as the realization hit me like a sledgehammer. Somehow, I’d convinced myself that all this could be fixed…that the fire was just a setback. But I realized now that the fire hadn’t just destroyed my home, my studio, and everything I’d ever owned and worked for. It had burnt its way into my life, igniting my hopes and engulfing my dreams, leaving only dust and the glow of cinder.

I was an orphan of the ashes.

We were outside now in the early spring dusk, the cool air nipping at the exposed skin of my legs. Brian stopped and turned to me, taking me in his arms again and holding me for a long time before whispering softly against my ear.

“This can still be your future, Sunshine. You just need to find a new way of getting there.” Brian pulled away slightly and leaned down to press his forehead against mine. “But you won’t find it digging through these ashes. You’ll have to start over; I know you’ve lost things you can’t replace, but the insurance money will be enough to get you started again. Come home with me, at least for now. I can help you.”

“I don’t want to start over!” I wailed, unable to bear the implications of what I was being told. “I worked so fucking hard for this! This was everything I had! I sacrificed so much…”

“I know how much you sacrificed,” Brian said softly, and the truth of his words touched something deep inside me.

“I know how badly you wanted this. And you know how badly I wanted you to have it. And so now you know how hard I’ll try to make sure you come back in a blaze of glory.”

“Christ, Brian,” I whispered, feeling suddenly so exhausted I could barely think. I leaned against him again and he hugged me close, his fingers caressing the hair at the nape of my neck. “You are a master at the art of simplicity…When’s it going to be my turn to do something incredible and life-altering for you?”

“You already have, Sunshine,” he replied simply.


	3. Phoenix Rising

**The Peninsula New York Hotel. Midnight.  
** _Brian’s POV  
  
_ Justin shifted against me restlessly, causing the fragrant, green-tinted bath water to oscillate in little waves all around us. In my exhausted state, I found myself watching with mesmerized fascination as it lapped up against the ivory porcelain of the Jacuzzi-style tub, shimmering like liquid crystal.  
  
I was acutely aware of the feel of Justin’s body positioned between my legs, the curl of his back fitting faithfully into the hollow of my chest. His head resting was sideways against my shoulder, one pale hand alighting on my knee which just poked out of the water.   
  
His breath was coming in slow, even puffs against my throat and through the fingers of my hand pressed lightly against his sternum, I could feel his rhythmic, steady heartbeat.   
  
He was almost asleep. Soon I would have to rouse him and take him to bed, but just then, I allowed him that innocent, effacing peace that sleep sometimes offers.   
  
The air was hot and heavy with steam, swirling and billowing about us in an almost ethereal mist, an evanescent fog that reflected the lethargy I felt in every molecule of my being.   
  
What a motherfucking day.  
  
It had begun a Thursday like any other, until Jennifer’s frantic, pleading phone call half way through the morning. And thus began the pandemonium; desperate phone calls to anyone and everyone in New York I knew Justin to be acquainted with- the gallery owner, his co-workers, any of the new friends he’d introduced me to, the pal of Daphne’s who’d found him the apartment.   
  
No one had known anything about Justin’s whereabouts or condition.  
  
When I could no longer bear having to wait for news, I drove myself to the airport, having no immediate plan of action beyond getting on the very next flight to New York. Hell, I’d been desperate enough to ride along on the plane’s fuselage at that point.   
  
As it turned out, riding on the fuselage may have been preferable to being crammed between the two hard-core hockey buffs who spent the whole flight debating the merits of wood vs. composite hockey sticks. I fought back the urge to demonstrate my version of the ‘slap shot’- or more specifically, just the ‘slap’ part.   
  
But the sheer blessed relief of finding him had been worth it- injured, confused and shattered though he was. But he was safe. Whole and beautiful and safe.  
  
Justin’s body unexpectedly slid down against me several inches as his skin suddenly lost traction on the smooth, subaqueous surface. I grabbed him under the arms before his head slid under the water, and the sudden movement yanked him out of his anesthetizing slumber.   
  
Justin pulled himself up again groggily, pressing back against my body and using the hand on my knee for leverage. His skin gleamed silver with a sheen of water, and tiny goosebumps rose on his flesh as the liquid turned into steam to rise in misty clouds.   
  
Justin had wanted a shower, but I’d insisted on a bath, ostensibly to keep the butterfly bandages on his face dry. Besides, if I was going to pay a fucking fortune for a Jacuzzi tub, we were damn well going to use it. But secretly, and perhaps a bit selfishly, I’d just wanted an excuse to sit with him and hold him in my arms; to give in to that blessed relief that he was alive and safe.   
  
Justin laid his head back against my shoulder again, and I saw that the eye with the cut above it was almost swollen shut, the inflamed skin pale magenta and deep purple. The blow to his face must’ve been pretty substantial; when I’d peeled off Justin’s t-shirt, I’d been suitable horrified to find his neck and chest caked in the dried blood the navy material had obscured.   
  
“You should get this looked at when we get back to Pitts,” I reflected, carefully pulling away the strands of ash gold hair that had become lodged in the butterfly strips. “I think may be you should have had stitches.”  
  
“Don’t,” Justin muttered, cringing at my administrations and brushing my hand away, clearing not listening to a word I was saying.  
  
He had retreated again into that state of absent aftershock that no amount coaxing or cogitating or cuddling would bring him out of. Even on the phone to his mother half an hour before, he had sounded lost, as if caught up in a tornado that hadn’t yet set him down.  
  
“C’mon,” I directed, pushing myself up onto the edge of the bath and then swinging my feet to the floor. When Justin didn’t immediately follow suit, I added, “Get out before you start growing gills.”  
  
I reached for one of the hotel’s thick white bath robes and shrugged into it, padding back into the bedroom and leaving Justin to climb out on his own time. I dug around in my travel case until I found the clothes I’d brought for Justin; an assortment of items he’d left in the loft during his visits, with a few of my own supplementary garments. It had been Jennifer who’d reminded me that he’d have nothing to wear except what he was standing up in.  
  
Him, and the clothes on his back. A long hard year of struggle and sacrifice and victory, and that was all that was left. Oh cruel, heartless world.   
  
When I returned to the bathroom, I found Justin standing at the vanity, his palms resting on its smooth marble surface, his gaze intent on his reflection in the Hollywood-style mirror. I realized it was probably the first time he’d really looked in a mirror since last night, and his expression showcased the disgust and despair he felt at seeing the extent of the bruising and discolouration on his face.  
  
“I can’t,” he said softly, darkly, not looking at me but continuing to stare back at his reflection with abhorrence. “I can’t go to the airport and onto a plane and through the arrival gates looking like this. Like I’m battered and broken and destitute. I mean, Jesus!”  
  
Justin screwed his eyes shut and banged his fist down on the counter, shaking is head as if trying to ward of the true implications of what had happened. I stood watching him silently, knowing there was nothing- nothing- I could say or do for him at that moment.   
  
When Justin looked up again, his eyes shone with angry, hateful, despairing tears.  
  
“How did it come to this?” he whispered bitterly, addressing his reflection, which could only ricochet the questions back unanswered. “Why the fuck is this happening to me? What did I ever do to deserve it?”  
  
The questions were rhetorical, and I knew he knew there were no answers, no absolution. There never would be. Silently, I placed the pair of shorts and the new, unwrapped toothbrush I’d found for him on the counter, and quietly left the room.   
  
I knew that in the end, it would have to be he who came to me.  
  
I turned off all but one of the lights in the bedroom before going to one side of the king-sized bed and pulling aside the down-filled duvet and soft, snow white sheets. I could see the sliver of light from under the bathroom door as I padded to the other side of the bed and climbed in under the covers.   
  
I turned off the one remaining light and watched the glow of the digital clock radio as the numbers changed and flipped and morphed into one another. 1am…1:10…1:20…  
  
Just as I was thinking I couldn’t lie there any longer without succumbing to the beckoning of sleep, the bathroom light went out, and I saw the area of deeper darkness beyond it broaden. A moment later, I heard Justin padding across the plush carpet, and then felt the bed dip slightly as he slid under the covers I’d pulled aside for him.  
  
There was utter silence in the dark room and it seemed to throb and resonate as I held my breath and waited. After what seemed like an eon, I felt Justin’s hand brush very softly against my upper arm and I breathed a silent sigh of relief, feeling him slowly shifting across the bed towards me.   
  
It was almost pitch black, but we didn’t need light, or voices or explanations to see and hear and understand everything.  
  
I felt his head come to rest against my shoulder, his breath warm against my skin, his body nestling in against me, begging for comfort and assurance in a way he never would in his waking hours.   
  
I put my arms around him protectively, cradled him to me tenderly, stroked his hair and neck and back, kissed his face and the hollow behind his ear. Soothed him into slumber, and felt myself push off and soar with him, out of the conscious world and into the serene purity of sleep.  
  
And in the glimmering light of dawn, bathed in the glow of scarlet and indigo and cyan, a phoenix rose noiselessly from the ashes and spread her golden wings to the sky.  
  
~~~  
  
 **Pittsburgh, Four days later**  
 _Brian’s POV  
_  
It would be a bit of an understatement to say that patience wasn’t exactly one of my most prominent virtues. I’d always considered patients to be for doctors.  
  
But I’d been patient with Justin. Really, really patient. Hell, I’d been so fucking patient that I would be astonished if I wasn’t nominated for a sainthood by the end of it.   
  
I couldn’t think of a single saint who had needed to put up with the industrial strength queen out I’d had to endure from my sunshine boy that morning.   
  
The stupid thing was, that I couldn’t remember what I’d said or done to set Justin off like Mt. Vesuvius. What had made him declare that I ‘didn’t give a shit about where he ended up’? What had I insinuated to make him tell me that ‘unlike my worldly possessions, money couldn’t buy back the things he’d lost”? Why had he felt the need to express so fervently his hatred of everyone’s fucking ‘everything-will-be-alright’ attitude?  
  
My neighbours may have wondered what the hell was going on; after all, 8:30 was rather an unsociable hour for a ‘domestic dispute’. I doubt they would’ve identified Justin’s tirade as a monologue and not as the colourful projectiles of verbal combat they were more used to.  
  
And if the hippies downstairs had heard the stomping footsteps, the slamming of the loft door, and the pounding feet down the stairwell, no one came to investigate as I stood in the ensuing silence, pinching the bridge of my nose and imploring the Gods to send me patience.  
  
Patience.  
  
It wasn’t his fault, I told myself. I knew from personal experience that it was far easier to blame something- anything- than to accept life and random chance had dealt you a shitty hand. The hardest blow of all was realizing you had no choice but to play it.  
  
I shifted papers around my desk, unable to settle to any task except worrying about where the fuck Justin had gone after storming out that morning. I was trying hard to convince myself that he may have slunk back to the loft with his tail between his legs, but I knew it was far more likely he was getting piss drunk in whatever shithole bar was open at 11am.   
  
Sometimes I wished he was a little less like me.   
  
I was about to try calling the loft again- just in case Justin was there, and just in case he felt like communicating rationally- when the intercom buzzed. I jabbed my finger down on the receiver button and snapped harshly to Cynthia that I was too busy to see anyone at that moment (‘busy’, of course, being a subjective term).  
  
“It’s Justin,” Cynthia told me, knowing that ‘anyone’ didn’t include my boy wonder. She sounded as she always did, as if she’d absorbed and sussed out the whole situation through osmosis. “He wants to know if you have a minute to see him.”  
  
“Fine,” I barked, trying to maintain my professional decorum as my heart did triple back flips in relief. “Send him in.”  
  
I quickly stuffed the papers concerning Justin’s damage insurance into the bottom drawer of my desk. I’d told him I would help him deal with the mountains of red tape involved in being a claimant, but what he didn’t know (and what I knew he wouldn’t allow), was that I was shelling out a small fortune to turn the screws on the insurance company in Justin’s favour.  
  
Straightening up, I nearly leapt out of skin when I saw that Justin had materialized right in frount of my desk, having somehow managed to enter and cross the room absolutely silently.   
  
He was looking down at me, uncomfortable and anxious, and I saw his thumb drawing little circles into the palm of the other hand, as he did when he was nervous.   
  
“You scared the shit out of me,” I told him, trying to convince my heart to slide out of my throat and back into my chest “Where the fuck did you learn to teleport like that?”  
  
“Brian, I’m sorry,” he said immediately, leaping in with both feet as he always did, and as I knew he would. “I’m truly sorry for all those things I said; they weren’t true and you didn’t deserve them. What I did this morning was appalling and…I’m sorry.”  
  
God, I hated this. I’d always hated having people apologise to me, or having to apologise to other people. It was insufferably awkward to have someone lie down and roll over at your feet, and so degrading to have to be the one doing the rolling.   
  
Christ, this time Justin hadn’t stopped at lying down, he had virtually tied himself down to the strapping board and handed me a paddle.  
  
“It’s OK,” I told him after a moment, feeling suddenly irritated. I swung my chair around and stood up, unable to stand the ‘principal’s office’ atmosphere. Justin moved quickly towards me and took my arm in both hands. When I looked down at his face, I saw his eyes were pleading and desperate.  
  
“It’s not OK,” Justin said firmly, looking up at me with those intense azure eyes. “I like to think I have more control than that. I just…I had no excuse to treat you the way I did.”  
  
Not wanting or needing to hear this, I decided to shut Justin up the best way I knew how. I grabbed him by the nape of the neck, pulling him in for a hard, deep kiss.   
  
I felt Justin’s shocked exhaled breath against my cheek, heard him struggling to breathe through his nose as he began to half-heartedly resist.   
  
When I finally let him up, Justin was flushed and panting and he looked so adorably indignant that I almost laughed.  
  
“Sorry’s bullshit,” I told him with a small smile, pressing my forehead against his. “Don’t humble yourself by apologising when you know you don’t have to.”  
  
“Brian! Christ, you’re so irritating sometimes!” Justin protested, trying to pull away from me but prevented from doing so by my arm around his waist. “You can’t just pass it up like that. I was wrong. I hurt you, and I shouldn’t have. Not after everything you’re doing for me- everything you’ve ever done for me!”  
  
“For us,” I corrected. “I’m doing this for us.”  
  
“Fine, for us then.” Justin snapped, pushing me away. “But if we’re going to be an ‘us’, we both need to have our needs met. You can’t let me walk all over you just because my fucking life goes up in flames. Just like I didn’t let you trample on me when you had cancer. Our relationship is not a one-way street, Brian…I never want it to be like that.”  
  
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” I asked, irritated at his self-righteousness. “Throw you out on the street? Give you fifty lashes? Refuse to talk to you for a week?”  
  
“I want…” Justin started to reply, and then stopped. He seemed to take minute to gather his thoughts and then looked at me, his facial expression softening back into that idiosyncratic pensiveness. “I want you to accept my apology…if you can. I need to know if you forgive me.”  
  
I went slowly to him and took his chin in my hand, turning his face upwards towards mine. His expression was anxious and sombre and hopeful, and I suddenly hated how I had the power to do this to him.   
  
I hated how he couldn’t yet just sense that I would forgive him for anything and everything. I hated how there was still uncertainties and doubts between us. Perhaps it wouldn’t always be so.  
  
Patience.  
  
“I forgive you, Sunshine,” I told him, my voice sounding much softer and gentler than I’d intended. I leaned forward and kissed his nose, and he beamed back at me; the first sunshine smile I’d seen in a long time.  
  
“And as for getting my needs met…” I continued, lunging for him so abruptly he gave a squeak of surprise. I grabbed his ass and hauled him up against my body, sliding my thigh between his legs and rubbing just hard enough to make him gasp and throw his head back. “…you’re going to be responsible for most of that.”  
  
“Oh? And what needs might those be?” Justin grinned, throwing his arms around my shoulders.  
  
“And one more thing,” I added, continuing to rotate my leg ever so slightly to make Justin moan with pleasure.   
  
“The next time your inner drama princess wants to have a cow and invite the whole fucking farmyard, make sure she understands that you’ll be paying for it in blowjobs.”  
  
~~~  
 _Justin’s POV_  
 **That night**  
  
“Ahh, fuck…stop that, you little shit…”  
  
Brian half-gasped and half-hissed in my ear when I caught him off guard by squeezing my muscles tightly around his cock. His protests naturally only encouraged me further and I redoubled my efforts, not giving Brian time to retaliate as he struggled to maintain the pounding rhythm.  
  
We were both on all fours on the bed, Brian’s chest heaving against my back, his knees forcing my legs wider apart, his hands squeezing my fingers so tightly I could feel our tarsal bones grinding together.   
  
I still marvelled at how we moved together so flawlessly; how every hollow of his body fit perfectly with mine, how every rivulet of sweat ran seamlessly from his skin onto my own, and how every movement he made induced a simultaneous, predictable, synchronized movement in me.  
  
Brian put an abrupt end to my shenanigans by reaching beneath us to fist my cock rather aggressively. In the explosion of electric euphoria, I immediately lost all muscle co-ordination, which allowed Brian to shove my head and shoulders downwards onto the bed, allowing him the best possible angle to stab repeatedly at my prostate.   
  
Once again, it seemed, youth was going to have to bow to experience.   
  
I writhed and moaned as blissful heat began to fill my body, spreading in a cascade from my chest to my arms, to my fingertips and toenails. I felt myself rising higher and higher, feeling as if I were composed of nothing but the millions of tiny electric sparks.   
  
I came hard into Brian’s hand, trying to ride the wave of orgasmic bliss as far as I could, vaguely aware of Brian starting to shake and shudder behind me.  
  
Satiated, I flopped forward on my stomach and lay there limply, trying not to give a needy moan when Brian peeled our bodies apart and pulled out of me slowly.   
  
A few moments later, I felt his upper body slump down sideways against my back, loosely embracing me, his hands just tucked under my body, his head resting in the hollow between my shoulder blades, the soft strains of hair warm and silky against my skin.  
  
Several long minutes passed as we lay together like that, just enjoying each other’s comfort and closeness.  
  
“Brian,” I began softy, afraid of breaking the spell, of spoiling the moment. “I was thinking…”  
  
“Don’t think,” Brian groaned against my skin, but he shifted his body upwards, kissing me tenderly on the shoulder as he came to lie on his front beside me, one arm still draped casually across my back. “Nothing too complicated, OK? It’s two in the fucking morning.”  
  
“I was wondering if…” I paused, wondering if this was a little too complicated for two in the morning. But when Brian raised his head slightly to give me a gentle, encouraging nod, I continued in a rush.   
  
“I was wondering if there was a job for me at Kinnetik. I mean, just until I get something worked out. I need the money; I can’t earn money until I can paint, and I can’t paint until I have the money to get new materials and until I have somewhere to paint. I just need somewhere to start off, you know? And you…you did ask me that once…”  
  
“Justin,” Brian interrupted, and the unusual use of my name made me look sharply across at him. He was wearing an expression I couldn’t accurately describe; poignant but somehow delicate and soft. He leaned across to me, brushed the hair tenderly off my forehead and kissed me softly, lovingly, high on the cheekbone.   
  
“All my offers still stand, Sunshine. Whenever you want to take me up on them.”  
  
We slept that night nestled together in each other’s arms, listening to our hearts beat in unison in the still hours of peaceful darkness. It wasn’t until much later, until the early hours of the morning as I lay awake listening to Brian’s breathing, that I understood what he’d meant.  
  
“All my offers…”   
  
The offer to pay for school, the offer to let me move in, the offer of the job at Kinnetik…  
  
And his offer to be mine forever…still stood. 


	4. Wonderful Life

_Justin’s POV  
_ **Twelve Days Later**  
  
“Omigod! Hey Sweetie!”

I turned at the sound of the familiar voice and saw Emmett’s cheerful boyish grin making its way along the bar towards me. I grinned back at him and returned the exuberant embrace he bestowed on me when he came within arm’s reach.

“I haven’t seen you in here since you got back!” Emmett exclaimed, putting his mouth close to my ear so I could hear him above the din of Babylon’s pounding dance music. “Is this humble abode too tame for your sophisticated New York tastes?”

“Are you kidding?” I replied with a good natured smile. “Haven’t you read the latest reviews? Babylon was rated, like, the hottest gay nightclub in the Northern Hemisphere- as Brian never fails to point out. I’d have come out before, but I’ve been busy with the new job and…stuff.”

“And how is the new job?” Emmett prompted, tactfully avoiding the more delicate topic of ‘stuff’. “Teddy tells us you’re the best thing to ever happen to Kinnetik’s art department. He says you plough through four projects in the time it takes the others to get through one.” He smirked, “Speaking of ploughing, is the boss is riding you hard?”

“It’s usually me riding him,” I replied with a wry smile. “Except I hardly ever see him at Kinnetik. I’d no idea he works so fucking hard- he never has a free second.”

“Ah, the burden of success,” Emmett sighed dramatically. “So where is His Majesty?”

“Probably in the VIP lounge,” I answered with a shrug. “I’d go and see for myself if the place didn’t operate like a sexual free-for-all; as soon as you cross the threshold you become just another part of the smorgasbord. It makes you feel kinda inadequate because everyone in there looks like Brad Pitt and acts like Zach O’Toole. No wonder guys practically grovel at Brian’s feet to get a VIP pass.”

“Baby, it’s every gay boy’s dream to get in there!” Emmett sighed, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “So, what’s the BF planned this evening to dissuade you from such a divine homo heaven?”

“I dunno,” I confessed. “When I got back from work today, there was this note from Brian telling me he wouldn’t be home but to meet him at Babylon and to pack for the weekend.”

“Ohh! How romantic!” Emmett squealed, “May be he’s whisking you away to somewhere exotic! May be he’s taking you to the Gold Coast- you know he never got Down Under last year.”

“For the weekend? Em, do you have any idea how far Australia is?” I replied with a laugh. “Given that today is Friday and we both have to be back in the city by Monday, I think we can safely strike Oz off the list of destinations.”

I didn’t tell Emmett I thought it was far more likely Brian was about to take me back to New York for some sinister administrative or morale-boasting purpose. I wasn’t entirely sure I liked the idea, but curiosity alone had been enough to make me follow his instructions without question.

“Then may be he’s taking you to Puerto Vallarta…or even Rio!” Emmett guessed. “Hey, if you’re going to Buenos Aires, I can teach you the Tango; I learnt it the other day from this really hot Argentinean. He only spoke Spanish, but he had the most divine lingistical skills none the less.”

Just then, Amy Winehouse’s ‘Rehab’ began to pound through the sound system and Em gave an excited ‘I _love_ this song!’ and hauled me out onto the dance floor. As I allowed my body to move with the music, I felt the stress and anxiety that had hung over my head in a persistent cloud for the last two weeks ebb and recede slightly.

I closed my eyes and gave myself over to the throbbing beat and to the lyrics ‘no, no, no’....

“Mind if I borrow your date?” a familiar voice asked, “Or rather, mind if I have mine back?”

I opened my eyes at the sound of his voice, which came from somewhere in the general vicinity behind me. Emmett grinned and put his hands on my shoulders, turned me to face Brian, and then wrapped his arms possessively around my chest.

“I’m not ready to return him yet,” Emmett declared. “You’ll just have to find another sweet young thing tonight.”

“Well, in that case,” Brian replied, flicking the stiff piece of card he held in his fingers so Emmett and I could see it was a VIP lounge pass, “I’ll just have to find someone else to give this to…”

“On second thought,” Emmett mused hastily, letting me go and taking the VIP pass from Brian, “variety is the spice of life. And God knows I love a smorgasbord.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek, ignoring Brian’s puzzled look. “Bye, Honey. Bon Voyage.”

With a final royal wave, Em turned and disappeared into the throngs of people, heading in the direction of the metal stairs that would bring him up to the VIP lounge. Brian watched him go, then turned and put his arms around me, drawing me towards him.

He dipped his head and gave me a kiss on the mouth which I returned a little hesitantly, not really sure what to expect.

“You OK?” Brian asked, peering into my face and evidently seeing something in my features that Emmett had missed. “You look really fucking tired.”

“I’m fine,” I told him with a smile, even though I did feel totally exhausted after the long productive, but trying week. “I brought my stuff for the weekend, like you said. Where’re we going?”

Brian didn’t answer right away, but took my hand and led me through the colourful, vibrating crowds of people towards the exit. After collecting our jackets and my backpack, he took my hand again and led me out of the club and into the cool night.

We were almost at the ’Vette before I tugged insistently on Brian’s hand, reminding him that he still hadn’t offered an explanation to my inquiry.

“We’re going home, Sunshine,” he said simply.

His answer to my question only served to heighten my confusion; ‘home’ could mean the loft, or New York, or may be somewhere that wasn’t a physical place at all... I felt the foreboding coil inside me like a loosely wound spring, but I pointedly ignored it.

I trusted Brian.

I knew that if home was truly where the heart is, I would find mine wherever Brian was.

~~~

_Brian’s POV_

Justin was asleep when we reached the outskirts of Pittsburgh. I watched his sleeping face out of the corner of my eye as we began to pass through darkened fields enclosed by barbed wire fences, their green promise of spring awakening hidden by the shroud of darkness, here unblemished by the city lights.

He stirred in his sleep, his fingers subconsciously tugging at the chest strap of his seatbelt which was cutting into the side of his neck. I reached over to adjust the strap and felt Justin’s fingers curl automatically around mine when I brushed his hand. The gesture moved me and strengthened my resolve. I tried again to tell myself that this was right.

That this sudden exposure of glossed over truths and things I ought to have told him was right. For better or worse.

The route was familiar by now, and even in the dark, I found my way without any wrong turns or missed junctions. As the smooth asphalt gave way onto rough gravel, I slowed the ‘Vette to a crawl as we approached our destination. I put the car into park, cut the headlights, and turned off the ignition.

And then I sat there in the silence and the darkness, feeling the chill of the night begin to infuse its way into the car through every unperceivable gap. The silence roared in my ears, and his sudden words seemed to cut through it with difficulty.

“Brian, no.”

Justin was awake, as I suspected he’d been for some time. I turned to look at his face, a pale oval in which I could only make out the hollows of his eyes and the curve of his mouth. He was shaking his head, looking out of the windshield, and then turning back to me with an expression I couldn’t see, let alone read.

“Justin, yes.” I replied softly, with no hint of humour in my voice.

“You said you sold it.” His voice was harsh and accusing. “Brian, you told me you sold it last June. You said you couldn’t afford to keep it, and so you put it on the market and it sold within two weeks. You told me that.”

“I said I found a buyer,” I corrected gently. “But I took it off the market before the sale went anywhere. Babylon was starting to churn up several times what I’d anticipated, and Kinnetik scored a couple huge accounts in the spring, so I had the money to keep it…”

Justin turned away from me, his face hidden in shadows, and made a soft noise of despair. Distressed, I reached across to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t shrug me off or pull away, I moved my hand upward until my fingers were resting feather-light against the nape of his neck.

“Justin, I fell in love with it,” I explained, trying hard to keep the pleading out of my voice.

“I wanted it fixed up before I sold it, and when the renovations were finished it was so beautiful…I could picture you in every room; I could feel you in every nook and cranny. It seemed wrong that anyone but you and I should live in it.”

Justin turned to me, and now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I could see he was wearing an expression of intense inner turmoil, uncertainty and distress and a terrible desperate hope. I put my hand to his face and touched his cheek, his temple, the line of his jaw.

“For the first time in my life,” I continued softly, “I thought I wouldn’t mind growing old. Here. With you. I so deeply, desperately wanted us to have this. And so I kept it…just in case.”

It was a long time later that we finally climbed out of the ‘Vette and walked, with our arms wrapped tightly around each other, up the gravel path to the red ochre frount door. As I slid the key into the lock and felt the lock’s pins click mechanically into place, I felt pieces of my world falling into place with it.

Britin was ours once again.

~~~

_Justin’s POV_  
 **The Next Morning**  
  
It was the dazzling light of the morning sun that woke me, as it came streaming in through the large uncurtained windows, cutting a path across the soft fawn carpet and coming lie across the bed and across our bodies. Its brilliance made me squint, but I relished the comforting warmth the light brought with it.

Behind me, Brian’s body shifted slightly, but I knew from his limp arm draped around my waist, and his steady, rhythmic breathing against the skin of my neck, the he was still asleep.

I was acutely aware of his flaccid cock resting between my cheeks and against the inside of my thigh. The last thing I remembered of the night before was begging Brian not to pull out, to stay inside me until I was asleep.

I nestled back against his warm body, and watched as the shadows in the room shortened and pirouetted around their objects with the steadily rising sun. I tried hard to reason out my situation; to deduce if being here was what I wanted, or even if it was even a good idea.

But in the end I gave up, because I knew any decisions I made now would be biased by the magic of Britin, and by the closeness and warmth of Brian’s body.

After about an hour, I felt him stir and begin to wake up. I extradited myself from his loose embrace and rolled over to face him. I pushed him gently onto his back and draped myself across his upper body, laying my head against his chest to hear and feel the steady beating of his heart.

“Mmm…morning, Sunshine,” he murmured sleepily, stretching and running a hand up the centre of my back before tangling his fingers in my tousled hair. He raised his head and squinted into the sunlight, “Should’ve got curtains for this room.”

“I like it,” I told him without looking up, running my finger softly along the dip of his sternum. “It’s so…natural, I guess. It’s not like there are any city lights to block out.”

“And no curious neighbours looking in to watch the rumpy-pumpy.” Brian replied with a hint of laughter in his voice, yawning and stretching. He made a sweeping gesture with his arm to indicate the general vicinity around us.

“So, do you like it? I guess you didn’t see much of it in the dark last night.”

“I saw a lot of the ceiling,” I told him with a smirk, “and quite a bit of the headboard, too.”

“Well, we wanted to give it a proper christening, didn’t we?” he replied, tongue in cheek. He twirled my hair absently around his fingers. “But really, do you like it? The room?”

Brian had obviously designed the Master Bedroom himself; I could recognize hints of the loft in the leather furniture, the state-of-the-art lighting, and the collection of sophisticated ornaments that adorned shelves and the mantel over what had once been a fireplace.

It was a very masculine room; a very Brian room.

“I love it, it’s perfect,” I assured him, but there was enough uncertainty in my voice that Brian picked up on it. He rolled onto his side, pushing me onto my back as he did so and looked searchingly into my face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I insisted, “I love it! The house is incredible, it’s fantastic. It’s like my wildest country manor house dream come true. It’s just…I’m not sure if I’m ready to commit to this; to living here with you. It just seems so final. What happens if I get offered another job in New York? What if I’m offered a place in a gallery somewhere else? It’ll be our wedding all over again, Brian.”

“No it won’t,” Brian replied softly. “Letting go of each other was so hard the first time because we didn’t know what would happen. But now we know that separation is not the be- all-to-end-all we thought it was, it’ll be much easier if and when we have to do it again.”

Brian took my hands in his and looked at me with a look of such purposeful intensity that I could almost feel it vibrating in the space between us.

“Justin, this is our chance to have this; to have everything we’ve ever wanted. And regardless of whether it lasts a year or a lifetime, it’ll be worth it. If we don’t do this now, we may never get another chance.”

I knew he was right. Life was too short for anything but love.

~~~

**That Night**

“Stop. Wait… a second.”

I froze and waited for Brian to adjust for the third time, carefully watching as the lines of discomfort faded from his face. His breathing was coming in short, sharp exhalations and in the flickering light of the living room fire, I could see silver rivulets of sweat gleaming on his skin.

I felt a stab of guilt knowing that in my excitement, I hadn’t prepared him as well as I probably should have. And since Brian only ever bottomed for me, I knew it had been at least six months since he’d last done it.

I stroked the tops of Brian’s thighs soothingly, careful not the shift the position of his legs against my shoulders until he was ready. After a time, I felt the rings of muscle relax around my cock, and I pushed forward a little further, this time just making contact with Brian’s prostate.

“Shhhhit,” Brian hissed, curling his body towards me involuntarily so that one of his legs slid from my shoulders.

“Stay down,” I grunted, emphasizing the words by pressing my hands firmly against his chest and giving his prostate another sharp stab. “Let me do it.”

I think we were both glad that Brian had abandoned the idea of adorning the living room with Persian rugs, in favour of having a single, thick hearth rug. Granted the thing did look as if it was made of Snuffalophagus pelt, but for our purposes it was perfect.

There was something ridiculously romantic about making love on the floor in front of a crackling fire.

When I began to give long, slow thrusts, Brian made a frustrated sound and curled forwards again, reaching around my body and grabbing my ass to pull me deeper inside him.

I grunted at the sudden unexpected movement and sensation, but quickly regained my composure and gave the top of his thigh a hard, stinging smack.

“ _Behave_!” I hissed at him, reiterating the point by leaning forward and forcing his knees back towards his head.

Power struggles were pretty much inevitable when I was on top and it always annoyed the shit out of me whenever Brian tried to ‘top from the bottom’. I’d learnt to adopt a firm hand.

My fingers closed around Brian’s cock and I stroked it in rhythm with my thrusts. Brian writhed and moaned, his hands scrabbling for purchase in the shaggy material of the rug.

When I felt myself coming close, I lurched forward to hover over Brian’s body, lacing my hands with his and pinning them beside his head, balancing on the balls of my feet.

Brian’s legs were too long to wrap around my waist so he held them suspended in the air, his knees pressed hard against my ribcage as I moved forwards in short, sharp thrusts.

“Fuck…ohh god…” he moaned each time I moved. I leaned down and laid hot, sloppy kisses on his collarbone and along the rough skin of his neck. I freed one of my hands and tangled it in his hair, pulling hard at the strands to send delicious zaps of tingling pain down his spine.

“What do you want, Brian?” I asked, leaning down so that my face was inches from his. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want…” Brian began, his face a mask of intensity as he fought to hold off for just a few moments longer.

I could see it was on the tip of his tongue to say ‘to cum’, but he looked up into my eyes suddenly and understood.

“You.”

“Then come for me,” I ordered softly, knowing that it no longer mattered who was inside who.

Brian froze and threw his head back, his jaw clenched, his eyes screwed shut, and the hand still in my grasp tightening almost painfully around my fingers. I felt the hot splash of his cum between us and the waves of constricting muscles around my cock.

And then I was cumming too, into the condom deep inside his body, relishing the feeling of supremacy and possessiveness the sensations elicited.

Afterwards, we lay naked together on the hearth rug and watched the fire change from low flame to glowing embers. I was reminded of that other fire, and remembered what Brian had said about ‘never getting another chance’.

I wondered now if the fire that had destroyed my life in New York hadn’t been some kind of purging; a cleansing by flame orchestrated by fate. A resetting of the clock.

Was I being given a second chance?

“You look very pensive,” Brian commented softly, rolling onto his side and brushing my shoulder with his fingertips. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” I replied, smiling back at him. When Brian looked incredulous, I gave a soft laugh and added, “My Wonderful Life’.  



	5. Crossroads

**Six Months Later**  
 _Brian’s POV  
_  
“Ahh!!! Fuck!” I swore as I felt something very cold and wet slide down the back of my neck. Before I could even move, another ice cube slid down my shirt alongside the first, and I heard Justin’s muffled laugh as I arched my back against the intense cold sensation.

I swung out of my desk chair and turned to confront the culprit, who was giving me a look of angelic innocence, despite the fact he was holding a water glass with half-melted ice cubes clinking in the bottom.

He was wearing his painter’s smock, and had evidently been making his way from his studio to the kitchen when he’d succumbed to temptation.

“You little shit!” I exclaimed, lunging forward and making a grab for the guilty party, who yelped, dropped the water glass, and took off down the hallway at a run.

I followed in hot pursuit as he sprinted along the landing, thundered down the main staircase and sought refuge in the dining room. We ended up with the dining room table between us, both panting in exertion and circling predatorily around the table’s perimeter.

“What’s the matter, old man?” Justin taunted, grinning like an idiot as he anticipated my next move to get around the table. “Am I too quick for you?”

“Ohhh, you just wait, kiddo,” I threatened, feigning an attempt to dart around the table to the left, but changing direction at the last second.

In one swift movement, I launched myself under the table and used the momentum to slide along the hardwood floor on my belly, just managing to seize Justin by the ankle.

He squeaked in surprise, and turning, fell to his hands and knees and tried to scramble away from me.

“You are so dead, little boy,” I panted as I pulled him, squirming and kicking, towards me. I flipped him onto his back, straddled his body, and began to tickle him mercilessly.

“Stop!” Justin shrieked between little squeals of laughter, writhing and thrashing beneath me. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“You sound just like a little piglet,” I teased, digging my fingers in under his armpits where he was most ticklish. Justin squealed again and tried to turn over to escape my relentless tickling, a manoeuvre I thwarted by squeezing my knees against his pelvis. “You know, I don’t think you’re sorry at all.”

“I am! I am!” Justin choked, “Oh please forgive me, Supreme Master of the Universe! I’ll do anything…Brian, stop- I’m gonna pee myself!”

I finally relented in my onslaught and pinned Justin’s wrists to the floor beside his head instead. I bent down and kissed him deeply, sliding my tongue into his mouth, tasting coffee on his lips and smelling the faint aroma of paint on his skin and clothes.

“You’re gonna get spanked long and hard for that one,” I promised provocatively, pressing my mouth against Justin’s ear when we finally parted for breath. Justin gave a little whimper and wriggled against me, wrapping his legs around my waist and pulling himself upward. “Oh, you’d like that, would you, little piglet?”

“Yeah…” Justin breathed, “I love it when you make me squeal.”

I did seriously consider fucking him right there on the hardwood floor of our dining room, but then I remembered how relentless hard surfaces could be during such activities.

Between the pool deck, the tennis court, the hearth rug, and the kitchen tiles, I figured our active sex life was already going to cost me several thousand dollars in knee surgery.

“Later,” I promised instead, grinding down against his body to make him moan for me just once more. “And I won’t forget.”

“You never do,” Justin replied with a grin as I climbed off him and helped him to his feet. “Hey, come and see my canvas- I tried that new lacquer I told you about, and it looks amazing. I just wish it didn’t take so long to dry- I’ve already been working on this painting for a month.”

“Y’know, it took Leo Da Vinci, like, 10 years to finish the ‘Mona Lisa’,” I reminded him. “And he didn’t have a full-time career at one of Pittsburgh’s top advertising agencies.”

“I’ll bet he didn’t have such delightful distractions, either,” Justin added with a wink. “C’mon.”

He took my hand and pulled me insistently up the stairs towards the painting studio I’d had put in shortly after Justin had come back from New York.

“I’ll be there in a sec.” I told him, pausing outside our bedroom, “I need to change because the back of my shirt is soaking wet for _some_ reason.”

“Really? Now why would that be?” Justin smirked, and laughed as I took a playful swipe at him. He swished his ass provocatively as he swaggered down the hall, and turned to give me a devilish smile as he disappeared through the door of the studio.

Arrogant little twat. I made a mental note to increase the number of promised spankings.

Smiling to myself, I changed into a dry shirt and quickly stepped into my den to save the work I’d been doing before I was so rudely interrupted.

I looked at the computer monitor and sighed heavily, reminiscing on a time when I didn’t have to work from home on Saturdays. Yeah, I cried all the way to the fucking bank.

I picked up one of the boards Justin had designed for ‘Star-Clip Enterprise’- a huge aesthetician company from Boston - and admired it. It had been this ad- Justin’s work- that had not only nailed this account, but had sent numerous other companies flocking to Kinnetik, practically begging to be considered as clients.

Justin was easily the best artistic designer Kinnetik had ever had; he was not only the most efficient, but he seemed to have more vision and insight than the other three put together. As it was largely due to him that Kinnetik had done so well over the past five months, I was seriously considering offering him a partnership in the agency.

And soon I would be ready to ask him to reconsider that other, far more significant partnership. I was prepared to take another chance on love, and pray that there was something in the expression ‘third time lucky’.

Fate might also take into account that we now had a stable to house any water buffalos we may receive as wedding gifts...

I desperately hoped this was the future he wanted. I would give anything to make him happy.

I was roused from these thoughts by the shrill peal of the phone. I knew it was the house phone, because I could hear it ringing simultaneously in my den, in our bedroom, and downstairs in the living room. I picked up the cordless receiver from my desk and gave a curt ‘hello?’

“Good morning, Sir,” said a deep, well-polished male voice. “My name is Matthew Rigden, and I am the co-founder of the Rigden-Newquay Art Gallery in New York City. We were informed that this was the home address of Mr. Justin Taylor?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I replied, suddenly feeling my heart start to sink. There was a long, awkward silence in which I knew I was supposed to offer to get Justin on the phone. Instead, I said rather lamely, “I’m his partner.”

“Ah, yes- well this will be excellent news for you as well. We have a rather exciting proposition for Mr. Taylor here in New York- one might consider it the chance of a lifetime. May I speak with him, if he’s available?”

“Sure, I’ll get him,” I said, trying to keep my voice clear of the dread that had closed around my heart with an icy grip.

Justin was arranging tubes of paint when I walked into the studio. He looked up and smiled brightly, but the grin faded when he caught sight of the look on my face.

He came quickly to me when I held the phone out, indicating that the call was for him.

“What’s wrong? Who is it?” he asked in an anxious half-whisper, taking the phone from me and covering the mouth piece.

“It’s an art gallery in New York. They have a proposition for you,” I told him softly, trying to sound causal but failing miserably. Justin stared at me for a second, and then looked down at the phone, looking alarmed.

I turned to leave the room because I couldn’t bear the tension, but Justin seized my arm.

“Pick up the extension in the bedroom,” he pleaded in a hushed rush of words. When I shook my head, Justin clutched me tighter and whispered, “Please, Brian. Don’t make me do this alone.”

I touched his face softly to remind him he was never alone, before turning and padding silently out of the room.

~~~

_Justin’s POV_

I heard the soft ‘click’ of the bedroom extension being lifted as the man on the other end of the line was introducing himself.

“Our gallery,” the man was saying, “is dedicated to providing the public with an exceptional and diverse collection of contemporary and modern artwork. We have showcased work by such notable artists as…”

I couldn’t concentrate; my train of thought had de-railed and was racing down another track. All I could think was: ‘Please God, not now. Don’t do this to me- not when everything in my life is so perfect. Not when I’d finally thought I was where I wanted to be. Not now. Not ever.’

“The Rigden-Newquay Gallery also has a rather unique and long-term artist-in-residence program,” Mr. Rigden continued, as if he were reciting a well-used speech.

“This program involves selecting an individual - generally a young emerging artist- and giving them the opportunity to showcase his or her work, while being employed at the gallery full-time. During their stay at the gallery, the artist-in-residence will meet, work and travel with other distinguished masters of their field. They will enjoy accommodation in New York that is partially covered by the program itself…”

I was pacing the room by now, half of me clinging to every word, the other half wanting to block it out, wanting to hang up and forget that I’d so desperately wanted a place in the Art World.

Please God, not now.

“Over the past three months, we have been critically assessing your fine and accomplished work, Mr. Taylor, and we have decided to ask you to be our next artist-in-residence. We are formally inviting you to New York to become a member of our team for a period of five years.”

“F-five years?” I stammered. Mr. Rigden mistook my horror for speechless joy.

“Yes, that’s right. Five years of learning and observing and making a niche for yourself in the finest art scene in North America. I don’t think I need to tell you, Mr. Taylor, that you are a very fortunate young man- thousands of young artists would kill for this opportunity.”

My mind was roaring with thoughts, with cascades of emotions that clashed and collided and ricocheted off of one another.

I could hear the words Brian had said to me on the first night we had returned to Britin;

_"We know that separation is not the be- all-to-end-all we thought it was, it’ll be much easier if and when we have to do it again…This is our chance to have this; to have everything we’ve ever wanted. And regardless of whether it lasts a year or a lifetime, it’ll be worth it."_

The decision that faced me was so monstrous that I couldn’t even begin to consider my options.

All I knew for sure was that if I left Britin for New York, I would never come back. And if I sacrificed New York to stay at Britin, I would never become a professional artist.

Did I follow my dream or did I follow my heart?

“Mr. Rigden,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m honoured by your invitation, truly honoured. However, before I give you a definite answer, I’d like some time to think about this. I need to talk to my partner, and to the rest of my family.”

“Mr. Taylor,” the man said, sounding a bit scandalized that I wasn’t gushing with gratitude and promising to be in New York on the next red-eye.

“I emphasize again that this is the opportunity of a lifetime. In the past, this has been the making-or-breaking of emerging artists like yourself. I would think very, very carefully about turning down this offer.”

“I know,” I told him, pausing in my frenzied circuits around the room to gaze out the window, over the golden fields and the majestic maples in their autumn robes of scarlet and crimson and fiery orange. My Kingdom. “How long can you give me to think about it?”

“I’ll call you on Monday morning for your decision, Mr. Taylor.” Mr. Rigden said reasonably. “That will give you a day or so to think things through. Again, I will accentuate the fact that this kind of opportunity comes up once in a lifetime for an artist. I implore you to be very conscious of that in your decision making. Good-bye, Mr. Taylor.”

“’Bye” I almost whispered. I held the phone to my ear long after Mr. Rigden had rung off, listening to the monotonous drone of the dial tone and wishing it could somehow swallow me up.

There was a soft ‘click’, and I knew Brian had hung up the bedroom phone.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, unmoving, unthinking, the phone held limply in my fingers. It seemed as if time itself had slowed down to accommodate my mind which was struggling to keep up with reality.

“Justin?”

Brian’s voice reached me from the bedroom down the hall, sounding distant but very clear. If I thought it was strange that he was calling me to him, instead of him coming to find me, my brain didn’t register it.

My feet moved on their own accord, padding softly on the carpeted flooring as I covered the distance to the bedroom door.

I found Brian sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, a look of thinly veiled distress playing on his features. When he saw me, he held out his arms, offering a promise of comfort in his actions and words.

“C’mere.”

A fierce desperation and need for release seemed to break over me at the sound of his voice, and I almost ran to him, stumbling on the shoes I’d thrown on the floor earlier that morning. It seemed like an eon ago.

Brian reached out to me, pulling me onto the bed with him, tight up against his warm, solid body. Neither of us spoke as we held onto each other, listening to each other’s breathing, knowing what every hitch of breath and sighed exhalation meant about what the other was feeling.

At last, Brian spoke softly, stroking the hairs at the nape of my neck very softly with his fingertips.

“I love you, Justin. Whatever you decide, I’ll always love you.”

I felt the tears that had been pricking at my eyes begin to rise and blur my vision. I tightened my grip around Brian’s neck and shook my head against his shoulder, feeling the gentle pressure of his fingers curling around the back of my neck.

“I don’t want to have to decide,” I whispered brokenly, “I don’t know what I want anymore…What am I supposed to do if I have two dreams that aren’t compatible?”

“You have to do what will make you happy, Sunshine,” Brian answered softly, brushing his lips against my temple. “Success and respect and money are all immaterial. They don’t mean a damn thing unless you feel your life has a purpose; unless you wake up every morning knowing you have something to live for.”

“Do you?” I asked, pulling back a bit to look at his face. “Do you wake up every day with something to live for?”

“Of course I do,” he answered gently, his green-gold eyes full of loving certainly. “I wake up next to you.”


	6. Thou Art

_I shall be telling this with a sigh_   
_Somewhere ages and ages hence_ :   
_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--_   
_I took the one less travelled by,_  
 _And that has made all the difference_   
                             --Robert Frost, “The Road Less Travelled”  
  
  
 **Sunday Afternoon**  
 _Brian’s POV_  
  
I wanted to beg him to stay at Britin. I wished I could tell him that I’d fall apart if he left me again; I knew this time would kill me.  
  
But I loved him too much to be so cruel.   
  
I knew I could never be truly happy unless Justin was. But the real gut-wrenching twist to the whole hateful scenario was that I knew Justin could never be happy unless I was. So where the fuck were we supposed to take it from here?  
  
I was thinking this as I walked alone in the watery light of the October afternoon, my feet squelching and crunching along the wet gravel path that led back to the house. Misty curtains of rain swept from a steel grey sky, the freezing drizzle clinging to my hair, soaking my clothes, and sliding down the back of my neck to chill me to the core.   
  
I’d thought the breath of fresh air would help clear my head, but it had only succeeded in making me even more miserable, if that was possible.  
  
Neither of us had slept the night before. We’d been awake in the dark together and when Justin had finally lain still long enough for me to hold him, I could actually feel the sickening inner turmoil churning within him. The days had been filled with endless debate, intense weighing of pros and cons, the concentration on every detail, every worst-case-scenario, every ‘what if’.  
  
The worst part had been dinner at Deb’s house on Saturday night, when Justin had broken the news to everyone. It was apparent by all the applause and congratulatory hugs and kisses that no one seemed to recognize our dilemma.   
  
And who could blame them? Justin had just been handed his dream on a silver platter- what kind of insanity would cause him to hand it back?  
  
Lindsay had picked up on the situation, though- she’d called late Saturday night to congratulate Justin, and then told me she’d rip my fucking balls off if I deterred him in any way. She so desperately wanted him to be the famous artist she’d never become.  
  
A few hundred yards from Britin, I sat down on the gnarled old tree stump that we’d dragged to the path’s edge as an impromptu garden bench. I felt in my pocket for a cigarette, and cursed as the wind repeatedly extinguished the flame I was trying to light it with. As I was struggling with the lighter, a movement from the direction of the house made me look up.  
  
Justin had just come out of the frount door and was making his way along the path in my direction, fumbling to pull the hood of his jacket up to protect him from the pelting rain. I couldn’t make out the expression on his face, but there was something purposeful and resolute in the way he was moving towards me.  
  
I didn’t know it then, but he was coming to tell me his decision.   
  
I’d expected him to speak when he drew level with me, but instead he just smiled softly at my questioning eyes and sat down beside me on the stump. He leaned against me and I instinctively put an arm around him, thinking that, like me, he was seeking temporary shelter from the storm. I gave him a reassuring squeeze and he laid his hooded head against my shoulder.  
  
“I’m not going.”  
  
I froze. A spasm of energy flashed through my body and I felt my heart skip a beat. I was sure I had misheard- not the words, but the tone of voice. Surely I’d misinterpreted that note of absolute finality that left no room for any doubt or reservation.   
  
Knowing that I’d see the truth in Justin’s eyes, I turned to him and pulled his hood back, making him look into my face. The rain fell onto his pale skin and shone there like rivulets of crystal.  
  
I had not been mistaken.  
  
“I’m not going to New York,” he repeated, the certainty in his words reflected in his expression. “I’m staying here with you.”  
  
For a long moment, I could only stare down at his face, my mind racing, my heart threatening to explode out of my chest with an eruption of emotion. Justin was looking back at me, demanding some kind of a response, and I knew I had to say something.  
  
“Why?” I asked, my voice little more than a whisper almost lost to the howl of the wind and the rain.  
  
“I finally realized,” Justin answered, looking away from my face to stare down at his hands as they played at the hem of his jacket. “I knew only one of my two choices would get me a place in the Art World. Only one would give me the chance to create beautiful things and to be respected and admired for them.”   
  
He paused for a moment and I felt the entire world holding its breath along with me. I saw Justin’s shoulders rise as he took a deep breath before finally completing his ultimatum.   
  
“But I just realized which of the two choices that was.”  
  
My mind was struggling to keep up with his logic and although I knew what he was saying, I still couldn’t comprehend what he was trying to tell me. I reached out a hand to still the movement of his fingers, and he looked up at me again.  
  
“I don’t understand,” I told him, gripping his fingers tightly to let him know that I did have to understand this. I needed to know why he had chosen us over him.  
  
“Brian,” Justin began, turning his body to face me and taking my hands in both of his. “I suddenly realized that the most beautiful, stunning and powerful piece of work I’m capable of creating is not in New York…it’s here. It’s inside me and it comes from you, and it’s always between us. It’s nourished by our love, it lives through us.”  
  
Justin put his hands to my face and looked hard into my eyes, as if he was watching his creation grow and swell and flow with the tide of my rising emotion.   
  
“If I ever left you,” Justin continued, his thumbs softly tracing my cheekbones, “it would wither and die. And all I’d be able to create would be empty shells; paintings as two-dimensional as the canvases they’re painted on. I don’t want to make cheap imitations of expression and meaning, Brian. I want to be an artist.”  
  
For a moment I could only stare back into his azure eyes that held such profound reason and was consumed with love for him. I wanted to thank him, to express the gratitude I felt so powerfully it seemed to be erupting from every outlet of my being. I wanted him to know that he would never regret it, he would never look back.  
  
I seized him and crushed his body to mine, pressing my mouth against his with an intensity that left us both struggling for air. And then Justin was surging upwards, I could hear his feet scrabbling for purchase on the slippery wood of the log as he scrambled to bring our bodies closer together.  
  
He suddenly slipped and we over-balanced, falling to the ground, my arm instinctively wrapping around Justin’s head and neck to protect them. The muddy grass beneath us was wet and cold, the driving rain continued to fall, and the frigid air caressed our exposed flesh like fingers of ice.   
  
But we were completely oblivious to them. At that moment, the only things that existed in the whole universe were him and me and the element that bound us together.  
  
I was lying on top of him, my body blanketing his, my hands endeavouring to touch and caress and gain access to every part of his anatomy. He was wriggling beneath me, his fingers pulling at my hair, his hands pushing my jacket from my shoulders and moving between us to fumble at the fly of his jeans.   
  
He wrapped a leg around my waist and pulled me downwards against his hardness, the sharpness of the action making me grunt.  
  
I roughly shoved his jeans and underwear down his hips and wrapped my hand around his cock, making him hiss with pleasure and arch upwards against me. The intese look on his face was of desperate need and powerful desire.   
  
Then I suddenly realized that- for once- I didn’t have a condom on me. When Justin sensed my hesitation, he gave a wail that was almost like a cry of pain.  
  
“Don’t! Don’t stop!” he begged in a ragged gasp, “It doesn’t matter- just do it! Brian, please!”  
  
“Shh…I will.” I promised him, “But not here. Not without a condom. You’re mine now, and I’m going to keep you safe.”  
  
I sat back on my knees, yanked Justin’s shoes off, and pulled his jeans and underwear clear of his body. I stood up, hauling him with me, and lifted him up until he wrapped his legs tightly around my waist. Somehow, we managed to make it back to the house, kissing and touching and pulling at each other’s hair and clothes, the wind and rain never ceasing in their relentless downpour.  
  
Inside the house, I carried Justin into the downstairs bathroom and turned the shower on hot. The cold had made my fingers go numb and I only managed to pull my jacket off before I became too desperate to care about peeling off the rest of our sodden clothing.  
  
I pulled Justin into the pounding spray with all of our clothes on.   
  
I pressed him up hard against the glass wall and licked and nipped at the sensitive skin of his throat, fumbling to open my fly and put on one of the condoms we kept in the soap dish.   
  
Justin was making needy mewing noises and actually seemed to be attempting to climb up my body. Our water-logged clothing was heavy and it weighed us down, but there was something exhilarating in the sheer desperation of this act.  
  
Not wanting to turn him away from me, I lifted Justin up again with my hands under his thighs, pressing him up hard against the glass so I didn’t have to bear all his weight. I didn’t prepare him, but entered him in one deep, swift thrust and he gave a long, drawn out wail of pain and release.   
  
I strengthened my hold on him and began to thrust upwards with short, sharp jerks, knowing that both of us were already very close.  
  
Justin wrapped his legs around my back and his arms around my head, holding so tightly I found it difficult to breathe. All around us, steam was rising in dense misty clouds, the pounding spray making my skin burn after being exposed to the cold air for so long. Justin was being much more vocal than usual- whimpering, wailing and making high-pitched noises in the back of his throat.   
  
I squinted and peered through the steamy fog to look at Justin’s face and saw he was wearing an expression of pure rapture. It was happiness and contentment and bliss all in one, and it remained forever afterwards branded into my memory.  
  
It was that expression that told me Justin was right. This was an embodiment of his art.  
  
Justin gave a guttural cry and went rigid as he came, throwing his head back against the glass, his mouth a wide ‘O’ of ecstasy. I held onto him tightly as I felt the contracting waves of muscles around me. And then I was giving myself over to the sensation whose intensity was magnified by what it symbolized.  
  
Justin had chosen me. He had chosen us.  
  
I felt the muscles of my legs begin to shake and I lowered us carefully to the shower floor. I sat back on my knees with Justin’s arms and legs still wrapped around me. He was shaking and breathing in short erratic little gasps, and I hugged him tightly and rubbed his back as the warm spray continued to stream down around us.  
  
After a time, I stood up and peeled off my wet clothes, opening the shower door and throwing them in a sodden heap on the bathroom floor. I was pretty sure the sweater was completely ruined and the Prada boots were a little worse for wear…but it had all been worth it.   
  
I turned back to Justin and took off his socks before lifting him to his feet and peeling off his wet hoodie and t-shirt. I turned him gently into the spray and carefully washed the mud and grass from his legs and back. His skin was flushed pink and it felt soft and hot under my soapy fingertips. There was mud in his hair too, and he turned and laid his head against my shoulder while I washed it out and combed the long, silky strands with my fingers.  
  
Afterwards, I wrapped him in a bath robe and led him into the living room where he sat on the Snuffalophagus hearth rug and watched as I lit the fire. When the kindling had caught and the smoke began to uncurl its long wispy fingers, I sat down next to Justin and put my arms around him again.  
  
I watched the reflection of the yellow flames in Justin’s blue irises, watched as it danced and flickered and licked upwards along the walls of the fireplace. I watched as Justin allowed the fire’s warmth to caress his skin, and loved how the gentle spit and crackle of the logs lulled him into sleep in my arms.  
  
Fire.  
  
It had begun and ended with fire.  
  
~~~  
  
 **Monday morning**  
 _Justin’s POV_  
  
I replaced the phone receiver, leaned against the kitchen counter, and closed my eyes for a few seconds. That hadn’t been so hard- not nearly as hard as breaking the news of my decision to my family and friends. I had no second thoughts, no misgivings, no regrets whatsoever- but it was going to be difficult to make them understand.   
  
Matthew Rigden had clearly thought I was committing career suicide, but said that I was obviously an intelligent young man who must have a very legitimate reason for turning down his offer.   
  
I knew that the Rigden-Newquay Gallery must have a laundry list of potential artists-in-residence, and it made me feel a little better to know that the ‘dream-come-true’ would pass to one of them. It would go to someone who really, truly, desperately needed it.  
  
“Well, then, Mr. Taylor,” Mr. Rigden had concluded, “We do hope that you will continue to create your wonderful works of art. Perhaps one day you would like to visit our Gallery and show us some of your new pieces? We really were very taken by your style, you know; such vibrancy and energy and passion.”  
  
“That’s love,” I told him before I could stop myself. “All my paintings are of love, Mr. Rigden.”  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
“You really are a true artist, Mr. Taylor,” the man said with feeling, sounding unspeakably impressed. “We do hope that you will keep our Gallery in mind in the future. I have a feeling we may be hearing more about you here in the Art World. I wish you all the best in all your endeavours. Good-bye, Mr. Taylor.”  
  
After a few moments of silent reflection, I felt Brian’s arms embracing me from behind and his lips kissing me softly on the neck. I leaned back against him and kept my eyes closed as he rested his chin on my shoulder and gave me a gentle squeeze.  
  
“What’d he say?” Brian asked, turning his head slightly to kiss the hollow behind my ear.  
  
“He thinks I’m a nutcase,” I replied with a small sigh. “But I think he may have understood something. He said I was a true artist.”  
  
“You are, Sunshine,” Brian answered, turning me in his arms and holding me against his chest. I hugged him back, resting my head against his shoulder and kissing the side of his throat. “All true artists choose the path less travelled.”  
  
“I didn’t just choose that path, you know,” I replied, pulling back so I could look up into Brian’s face. “I was already on it…I just chose not to turn back.”  
  
“So when did you choose the path you’re on?” Brian asked, his fingertips gently brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. I smiled up at him and told him the truth.  
  
“I chose it the night I said ‘I’m going with him’.”  
  
THE END

_A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading! I hope you've enjoyed it ;)_   



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